


Punishment

by Thia (Jennaria)



Category: Initial D
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-22
Updated: 2010-05-22
Packaged: 2017-10-09 19:04:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennaria/pseuds/Thia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not even Shingo's sure how 'Lose to the Emperors, and I'll take it out of your ass' turned into 'taking your ass,' but Nakazato is still going to pay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Punishment

**Author's Note:**

> Dubious consent issues. Possibly part of my IDP universe, but there's no plot connection. And this was finished for my birthday mathom challenge, third of three, vastly overdue. :wince:

Bed: made. Hell, he'd picked up his clothing and even put his magazines on the fucking shelves. Takeshi better appreciate it. Ha, right, as if the bastard would even notice.

Shower: all set. Yeah, mostly soap smelled like soap, at least the kind Shingo bought, but he didn't feel like sharing. Besides, what if Takeshi wound up _smelling_ like him? People would talk.

And the _really_ key stuff was on the bed. If he'd been classier, maybe he'd have it on a bedside table, but he didn't have a bedside table, and besides he wasn't going to bother with classy. Not for this.

That was it, done. This had fucking well better work. Once his EG-6 was finally fixed and re-tuned, he was going to challenge for the leadership of the Night Kids again, and nobody would dare object. Let Takeshi choke on supporting _his_ rival in front of every single racer in Gunma.

But first Shingo was going to make him choke on something else.

Right on the heels of that thought - proving that Shingo had a hundred times the sense of timing that Takeshi did -- the doorbell buzzed. Shingo answered it and stepped back with a polite half-bow. "Nakazato-san."

Takeshi flushed red at the formality, like he hadn't since Shingo dropped the honorific the first time. "I'm here," he said stiffly.

"Welcome," Shingo said, and didn't bother to repress his grin. Takeshi was dressed up like this was a _date_. "Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you." Takeshi toed off his shoes and came in. He was looking around warily, like he thought Shingo had some of his friends behind a door, waiting to jump out and yell _Surprise!_ (Shingo had considered it, but Takeshi didn't need to know that.)

"Ah. Shower, then?"

Takeshi stopped short, half blocking the entry to the living room. Shingo didn't step around. Instead, he rested one hand on Takeshi's shoulder, and stepped in as close as he could. "Unless you've already showered," he said into Takeshi's ear. "Or if you'd rather go back on your word--"

Takeshi swallowed hard, then in a nice steady voice, he said, "No. I'll go shower."

*

Yesterday, waiting for the Emperors to show up. Nobody there but the Night Kids: it wasn't like they'd advertised _this_ race. None of the guys could stay still, Shingo least of all. Takeshi, on the other hand, was leaned up against his car, watching the road like he thought he was an samurai guarding the pass instead of a street racer.

So Shingo walked over to him and asked, voice low, "You ready?"

"Of course I'm ready."

Yeah, yeah, stupid question. Like Takeshi needed more doubt after losing twice in a row, first to that fucking inhuman 86 driver on Akina, then to Keisuke fucking Takahashi. "Just checking," Shingo said, then unable to resist, "It's more than _your_ pride on the line."

"I know what I need to do. Myogi will see the end of the Emperors' invasion."

He really did sound like an old samurai. It was kind of impressive. What the hell. "Takeshi," Shingo said, and waited until he actually looked away from the road. "Win, and I'll acknowledge you."

Takeshi's eyebrows went up. "Really."

"Yeah." And just in case that wasn't enough... "_Lose_, and I'm taking it out of your ass."

"Agreed." Takeshi went back to watching the road, and Shingo went back to pacing around.

*

He'd already showered, so he didn't have the excuse to sneak into the bathroom and start things there. Not that he _wanted_ to start things that quickly. He wasn't even sure how 'taking it out of your ass' had turned into 'taking your ass.' It wasn't like Takeshi turned him on.

Well, maybe a little. He didn't have the nice soft curves of a girl, but those big eyes, and long legs, and that self-control that always made Shingo want to tear it down...yeah, Takeshi wasn't totally unappealing, even to a straight guy like Shingo.

Shingo paced back and forth around the room. He was all prepared, unless he wanted to get undressed (which he didn't). All he could do was light a cigarette and wait.

He hated waiting.

Takeshi finally emerged, wrapped in the towel Shingo had left him. He was flushed bright red, either from the hot water or from embarrassment, who knew which. Shingo leaned back back against the wall, trying to pretend he'd been standing there all this time. "Nice. Now lose the towel."

Takeshi's eyes narrowed. But he undid the towel and let it fall to the ground.

He wasn't turned on. Of course he wasn't: he'd come here because of a challenge, not because he wanted Shingo. That was going to be the first thing to change. "Here, sit down. And start jerking off."

"What?"

"This isn't gonna work unless you're relaxed," Shingo explained patiently. "And you're sure as hell not relaxed now."

"How would you know that?"

He'd gone and looked it up, and hadn't that been fucking embarrassing, trying to sneak around the library to find information on gay male sexual acts without anyone seeing him. Less embarrassing than going to an internet cafe and looking it up online, with the even higher possibility of someone looking over his shoulder, but still not something he was gonna tell Takeshi about. "You'd be surprised what you hear around," he said instead, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Now, start."

Takeshi sat down on the bed, but he didn't start jerking off. Instead, he hesitated, one hand fisting slowly on the bedclothes. Shingo watched him for a minute, then said, "Oi --"

"It's not that simple," Takeshi said, glaring at him.

Yeah, probably not. He couldn't imagine anything less sexy than sitting on Takeshi's bed and being told to jerk off. Or at least, that's what he would've thought before five minutes ago. To Shingo's private surprise, the thought right now wasn't exactly a turn-off. Huh. Didn't help Takeshi, though. "So think about sexy things," he said, stubbing out his cigarette. "Nice big boobs on a cute girl. Tight underwear that shows everything. Fuck, think about your GT-R if you have to."

Takeshi's glare hadn't lessened. "Don't mock my car."

"Why would I be making fun of your car? Every racer thinks like that about his car. Sitting in the driver's seat, right when the race is about to start -- if you're trying to tell me you don't get turned on, okay, but I'll be kinda surprised."

"You want me to think about driving?"

_Yeah, especially if it'll get you winning again!_ Shit, no, he couldn't say that -- Shingo was trying to _relax_ Takeshi. Besides, Takeshi did think about his racing. He just couldn't seem to follow through all the way to the end. "Sure, think about driving," Shingo said instead. "Think about someone sucking you off while you're driving."

"That's not very safe."

"Who cares about safe? This is a fantasy, not reality."

"Shingo --"

Not _Shoji_, ha. Good. "If you can't even come up with a fantasy, no wonder you always have a stick up your ass," Shingo said. "I don't want you just lying there. You aren't some girl I picked up."

Takeshi frowned again, but it seemed more thoughtful than aimed at Shingo this time. At least, instead of protesting again, or maybe getting up and trying to walk out the door and to hell with his clothes, Takeshi leaned back against the pillows, and started touching himself.

For a second, Shingo considered looking away or something. Nah. He lit another cigarette and watched.

It took Takeshi less time than Shingo was expecting to actually get hard. Maybe he _was_ fantasizing about getting a blow job, or about driving, or hell, maybe just about winning a race. Or maybe he wasn't finding this whole set-up to be as much of a turn-off as he'd expected, same as Shingo.

Shit. Time to think about something else.

But there wasn't anything else. His eyes drifted right back to Takeshi, and the movement of Takeshi's hand on his cock. He would've expected his rival to be the type who got all elaborate about jerking off: touching himself lightly, tweaking at his nipples, making a whole ritual out of it. Instead, he was all straightforward and _normal_ about it, eyes closed, hand wrapped around his cock, slow rhythm up and down.

This was good, Shingo reminded himself. He wanted Takeshi relaxed. And when he _was_ relaxed and into it, like, say, now, Shingo would stub out his cigarette, sit down on the bed next to him, and put his hand on Takeshi's leg. Takeshi's eyes would fly open, all startled and shocked and vulnerable.

It worked exactly the way he'd planned. He couldn't help smirking at Takeshi's expression: it was like the guy had forgotten why they were here. But he wasn't going to push things, not exactly. Not yet, anyway. He casually removed his hand, and stripped off his shirt, like that was why he had come over in the first place.

Sure enough, Takeshi's expression changed again -- but not the way Shingo had expected. He wasn't getting more nervous: instead, he was taking deep, regular breaths, like he was calming down again.

Hmph. Shit. Well, maybe if he raised the stakes somehow. If Takeshi were a girl, he'd just kiss him. But he wasn't, and now Shingo was _hesitating_. He couldn't just sit there and do nothing: this was fucking Nakazato Takeshi, who fucked up against those fucking Emperors, and _owed_ Shingo this. Shingo told himself not to be a coward, and slid his hand down Takeshi's chest to touch his cock.

Absolute silence. Their eyes met, and Shingo realized two things at once: first, that Takeshi hadn't closed his eyes again. Instead, his hips twitched under Shingo's hand like he wanted that, wanted the pressure of Shingo's touch, and his erection hadn't gone away when Shingo touched him. Which sorta implied that the hard cock under Shingo's fingers was because of _Shingo_, and not some imaginary pair of boobs.

Second, no matter how regular Takeshi was breathing, Shingo could feel a slight trembling under his hand. Takeshi hadn't gone and forgotten whose bed he was lying on, or any shit like that, which made it just that much better. Instead, he'd been biting his tongue, or the inside of his cheek, or _something_ to keep himself quiet, because when Shingo ran one finger up and down his cock, Takeshi made an actual noise, then sucked in his breath and held it. He might want this, but he didn't _want_ to want it, or at least he didn't want Shingo to know he wanted it.

Shingo ran his fingers up and down Takeshi's cock again, thinking fast. This wasn't what he'd planned for, but he hadn't exactly had much of a plan -- it wasn't like he could practice for this like he could a race. Didn't matter. Takeshi was _reacting_. There was a crack in his precious control. If Shingo could fuck him and make him _want_ it, that would be even better than just making him suck Shingo off.

He stopped hesitating, leaned down, and kissed Takeshi.

It worked. Well, mostly it worked: Takeshi relaxed, actually relaxed, into the kiss. It took forever to get him to open his mouth and kiss _back_, to Shingo's annoyance, but once he finally started getting into it, he was actually a really good kisser. Nearly as good as Shingo himself. Distractingly good.

Which _wasn't_ good, Shingo reminded himself. They weren't here to make out like they were -- were _dating_ or something. He broke the kiss, and said softly, "Spread your legs."

Takeshi's eyes widened for a second. Then, nothing, blank - it was like his face shut down as he spread his legs. Shingo gritted his teeth. There went all his work relaxing Takeshi. He should've just grabbed the lube and started. "You could at least try to relax," Shingo grumbled.

Takeshi didn't bother to respond. He just lay there looking up at the ceiling, legs spread, like he thought he was some high-class courtesan. Shingo grimaced and grabbed the lube anyway, not bothering to muffle the sound as he popped it open. Takeshi didn't even jump. Fucker. Tensing up at the wrong time, never fucking relaxed: no wonder he couldn't seem to win a race. He'd fucking well better respond to this, or else _he_ was the one who was gonna be hurt. All Shingo had to go on was a few girls and that one library trip.

Shit. Was he getting _nervous_? Fuck that.

Shingo rubbed a slippery finger over Takeshi's ass. He got no reaction, or at least no reaction he could see. Well, if he couldn't _tell_ Takeshi to relax, he'd have to try another way. Shingo swallowed -- quietly, he _wasn't_ nervous and like fuck was Takeshi going to start thinking he was -- and wrapped his other hand around Takeshi's cock. After another half-second, he started stroking, the same regular motion he used on himself. At least the guy was still hard.

Takeshi made a soft, startled sound, and he looked down at what Shingo was doing. Good enough, Shingo decided, and pushed his lubed finger just inside Takeshi's ass. In and out, in and out, and how the fuck was he supposed to tell if Takeshi was relaxed _here_? With a girl, Shingo would be inside her by now. With a girl, he wouldn't have to lube his partner up. But Takeshi wasn't a girl.

One finger wouldn't be enough. Shingo bit his tongue so maybe he'd be distracted from how fucking hard he was, like that wasn't screwed up or anything. He let go of Takeshi's cock long enough to grab the bottle of lube again, then pulled his finger out of Takeshi's ass and squirted more lube on it. It felt kind of cold. Was he supposed to warm it up or something?

He rubbed his fingers together awkwardly -- shit, this was messy, why had he thought this was a good idea again? Takeshi shifted a little, and Shingo looked up sharply. Takeshi was watching him. Not just his hands, him in general.

"What?"

Takeshi met his eyes like he wasn't sprawled naked on Shingo's bed, two fingers away from being fucked. "You're being very careful."

"Yeah, well, it's not because I like you or anything." Shingo slid his hand under Takeshi again, rubbing against his ass. Must've been warm enough, because Takeshi didn't flinch. "I just have standards. I never left a girl unsatisfied, and I'm not going to start with you."

"I'm _not_ a --"

Two fingers, all the way in. Takeshi's eyes actually crossed, breath hissing in. Oh, yeah, that was the stuff. "Sure you're not," Shingo said, and didn't even care that his voice came out all husky. This was getting easier, and not just because Takeshi was relaxed now. He just had to move his hand like he was already fucking Takeshi. This was enough, wasn't it? It fucking well better be enough, because Shingo wasn't gonna be able to wait much longer, and he was _not_ gonna just come in his pants from sticking his fingers up Takeshi's ass and watching the bastard moan.

Pants. Still fastened. And his hands had lube all over them.

Well, shit.

He pulled out his fingers, slowly, and shifted so he was up on his knees. "Takeshi." His voice was still husky, but that was okay. "Unzip me."

A second or two, while Takeshi blinked up at him, his eyes focusing again. With a sinking sensation, Shingo recognized that look. That wasn't the blank look he's just had like he was trying to control himself. That was the look Takeshi got before a race, that _focused_ look that meant he was _thinking_ about things. Shit, if he was about to try to push things, turn things around --

Without looking away, Takeshi undid Shingo's pants, buttons then zipper. Then he pushed both pants and boxers down over Shingo's hips, carefully pulling them out so they didn't catch painfully on the erection Shingo wasn't bothering to hide. And then he let go and lay back on the bed again.

...what the fuck. Takeshi was _changing lines_ on him. Again! Muttering something nasty under his breath, Shingo got off the bed completely and kicked off his pants the rest of the way. Now he kinda wished he'd left his shirt on: he wasn't sure he wanted to be naked here. He leaned over to grab a condom -- at least it hadn't fallen off the bed, that would've been just his luck with the way things were going -- then braced himself over Takeshi and kissed him. It had worked before, after all.

It worked again. Mostly, at least. It hadn't gotten any easier to concentrate when Takeshi was kissing him back. After a minute or two, Shingo had to break the kiss and sit back, ripping open the condom -- at least it ripped, even with one hand still all slippery -- and unrolling it over his cock. Just one more minute...

Takeshi was relaxed enough that Shingo slipped inside easily. Well, easily for a virgin: hot and slick and stranglingly tight around his cock. Shingo pushed in carefully, and bit the inside of his cheek, more to keep from laughing than just to keep control. This was it. Takeshi was never gonna be able to forget this.

Shingo looked down, just to see the look on Takeshi's face, and lost the desire to laugh. Takeshi had that careful blank look again, like he was just enduring it, and his erection had wilted. _Fuck_.

No. Fuck that. Takeshi wasn't gonna just lie there like some innocent, like this was all _Shingo_. He was gonna _feel_ it like Shingo was feeling it, damn near trembling with not thrusting into that -- shit, no, couldn't think about how Takeshi felt around his cock.

Shingo tried to think around to the desire to just _move_ already. He researched this, and he was _not_ going to spin out just when they reach the hairpin corners. The book said the guy on top would stimulate the guy on the bottom manually -- his hand on Takeshi's cock, that meant -- and try to stimulate the bottom's prostate gland with his cock. He didn't remember where the prostate gland was, besides 'up the ass'. Maybe he should have spent longer with his fingers, actually touching Takeshi instead of just loosening him up.

Ah, whatever. He had his cock up Takeshi's ass, and he couldn't just sit here and hope the magical prostate fairy was gonna show him what he was supposed to do. He balanced his weight on one hand, wrapped the other around Takeshi's cock, and moved his hips, carefully, in and out. In and out. In --

Hell. He was about to lose his balance, and he couldn't fucking concentrate on both jacking Takeshi and fucking him, not without falling over. Shingo stopped moving, buring as deep in Takeshi's ass as he could -- like fuck he was gonna just let himself slip out -- and let go, shifting so he was braced over Takeshi, arms on either side of Takeshi and Takeshi's legs folded awkwardly over his. "Touch yourself."

Takeshi's eyes narrowed. At least it wasn't that blank look.

"I can't --" Shingo stopped short. Why was he bothering to explain? He grabbed Takeshi's hand and put it on Takeshi's cock, moving it up and down in that rhythm he saw Takeshi use earlier. "Touch yourself," he repeated, and ground his hips lower, just slightly in and out.

_This_ time it worked. Takeshi's eyes widened, and Shingo could _feel_ him relax as his cock hardened again. Shingo watched him. He couldn't let himself get distracted -- not too distracted anyway, even if he couldn't stop himself from moving now, short little thrusts. This was as tricky as racing a new pass, trickier than fucking a girl. Takeshi had to accept this -- had to _want_ it. Had to come with Shingo's cock inside him.

Wait. Fuck. When had he gotten all worried about Takeshi getting off? This was supposed to be _punishment_. Using Takeshi for his own pleasure. Or maybe just winding him up and _not_ letting him come.

Fuck that, Shingo decided. This was better. Even if he still didn't know where the prostate was, Takeshi's hand on his cock, faster and faster, was making up for it, and he was pushing up into Shingo's thrusts like he really was getting into it. Oh, yeah. This way was _much_ better. This way, he could do it again.

Exactly as that thought crossed his mind, Takeshi's free hand came up and grabbed Shingo's arm, painfully tight. "Shingo..." Low and wavery, and then his eyes rolled up and he lost it, coming in hard, helpless jerks.

_Finally_. Shingo didn't groan Takeshi's name as he came too. At least he was pretty sure he didn't. He was kind of distracted at the time.

He also collapsed on top of Takeshi, which he did feel a little bad about once he'd regained enough brain to remember. Girls complained about it, so Takeshi probably wasn't too happy either, even if he was big enough that at least Shingo probably hadn't knocked the breath out of him. Shingo still lay there for a minute, trying to pull himself back together and get over the uneasy feeling that Takeshi hadn't been the only one who'd lost control.

At last he sat back, pulling out carefully and disposing of the condom off the side of the bed. Takeshi had his eyes closed, and he still looked relaxed. Content, maybe. Shingo sat back on his heels and watched him, not sure if he was waiting for Takeshi to pull himself together or hoping he wouldn't. Definitely not hoping he wouldn't. That would be stupid. He wouldn't be _Takeshi_ if he didn't have that samurai stick up his ass. But at least Shingo had gotten the chance to replace that stick for a while. Maybe he should thank those Emperor bastards --

_Shit_. The Emperors were trying to hit all the passes in the area, not just Myogi (and probably either Akina or Akagi next) but everywhere. Like Usui. Didn't Sayuki race there now?

"Reminds me," he said, sliding off the bed as casually as he could, given it meant climbing over Takeshi's legs. "I should let Sayuki know about those Lan-Evo assholes."

Takeshi's eyes opened, but he didn't say _I'm not a girl_ or even anything about the Emperors. He just said, "Who?"

"Someone I knew when I was a kid. Last I heard, she races on Usui." Shingo ducked into the bathroom, and frowned down at the sink. He was a mess, and Takeshi was probably worse. Why had he come in here instead of just grabbing one of their shirts? There really was something wrong with him. He grabbed a towel and came back out, mopping himself off. "You can come along if you want: she's a nice kid. Cute, too."

Takeshi blinked at him, and sat up carefully. "I thought I understood you, Shingo, but sometimes you utterly confuse me."

"Good." He didn't want Takeshi to start _understanding_ him. That wasn't what this was about. Shingo wasn't sure what this _was_ about any more, but it wasn't that. They were _rivals_, dammit. "My EG-6 should be ready in a couple weeks. Don't want you thinking I'm predictable."

"The outcome of _that_ race is."

That was kind of reassuring, actually. Even lying there, covered in sweat and come and lube, Takeshi could still pull that arrogant know-it-all face that made Shingo want to wipe it off. Shingo laughed to himself, and tossed Takeshi the towel.

"I need a shower."

"You know where it is."

"Of course," Takeshi murmured, and rolled over to stand up. A momentary wince as he sat up, but no other reaction. When he stood up, he looked down at Shingo, and just for a second --

Nothing. Shingo watched Takeshi head into the shower, and shook his head at himself. Nothing had changed after all. Not because of this.

On the other hand, if getting fucked hadn't changed Takeshi... Maybe he should set higher stakes on that race after all. Not just the Night Kids, but another round. Even if Shingo lost, which he wouldn't -- well, there had never been anything Takeshi could do that Shingo couldn't do better.

Shingo picked up the towel, and went to get dressed again. He didn't want to still be naked when Takeshi got out of the shower.

-end-


End file.
